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Astrid came back on. “Keep your distance. Recon only, right?”

“Call you later.”

Without slowing across the driveway, into the house and under the hot spray to scrub Eryn’s scent off him.

Why was Lexi’s first instinct to have him be careful of his scent? Had she dealt with wyverns before, personally? And survived?

Coroners dealt with demon hunter bodies like they would any other monster, but did she realize hunters didn’t carry a scent? Well, minimal, anyway. Bodie could track a familiar scent, only because he slept alongside a demon hunter every night. Other scents didn’t stick to hunters well, so even Eryn’s scent on him would be minimal.

In fresh clothes, he stalked across the room to the chest full of pointy objects and flicked open the lock. He tucked a few daggers into the strap on his thigh and grabbed his favorite broadsword. Inherited from his great-great-grandfather—a man he barely remembered. Maybe it was because he now carried the sword, but he had flashes of the ancient man crouching down to bop his nose, wink, and stalk off to fight evil with this sword.

Had he seen things, sensed more, like Vann did? Like his grandmother? Was it as strong as his grandmother’s sight had been, or more subtle, like exceptional instincts—like his own?

Echoes haunted the empty room as he crossed toward the door. He pulled the business card from his pocket, and bit his bottom lip.

Instinct, foresight. The prickling of his skin. Adrenaline surging preemptively.

Whatever it was, he couldn’t explain it, but he knew things were accelerating. Time to call in the team…

Better make sure they had a place to sleep. Enough towels in the guest bathrooms.

He fired off an email to the decorator, offering a bonus for a fast, comprehensive job.

Not waiting for a response, he set the house alarm as he headed out. Tossed his sword in the trunk. Jumped in the car, and took off.

An ambulance roared past him from the narrow mountain road, long tracks of mud smothering the asphalt in its wake.

About fucking time he got a decent lead.

He followed the muddy tracks to a turnoff up the hill.

Another siren wailed. He pulled to the side; the muddy road was only big enough for one car at a time. This one was moving fast, taking the turns faster than was safe. Must be that bad.

He kept climbing.

A cluster of police, firefighters, and rescue team vehicles clustered at the trailhead.

Vann spun the wheel. Not a good time to attract attention, and his car on this road wasn’t subtle.

He turned back to find another way in.

A logging area gate blocked access to a gravel road. He left the engine running and hopped out.

Just a generic padlock. He yanked hard on the lock. It snapped open, and he set it on the post.

He slid back into the car and drove through the gate.

Coast clear. He hopped out again and hooked the broken lock back over the latch.

Keeping his pace slow and watching his tires didn’t scuff the gravel, he kept his trail clean so no one passing by on the main road would suspect anyone was up here.

Then he drove like hell.

Tight around the corners. Dodging branches that had fallen since the last time the road had been graveled.

Deeper into the hills.

He shut off the engine, popped the trunk, and jumped out of the car.